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acrostic poem

era năo para esse cheiro singular
splendor doce
em e sobre
cidade que năo é uma cidade
estourou o vinho feroz
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
a noite era preta e drear
o alvorecer era verde maçă
encontra-se aqui uma senhora a mais bonita
em setembro
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
é frequentemente năo assim?
quem é o corredor nos céus

 



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